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googleitlol · 15 days ago

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Sooooooooo @rovobeam and I have been cooking up this lmk au we've been calling the False Hero AU. It spawned from the question of what would have happened if Macaque never died during his fight with Wukong. What if he had won and sealed Wukong away under his own mountain?

The answer: Wukong never gets to be happy :D

There's a few things we've talked about, ocs we have for the au, and so I thought I'd share a lil smth I wrote.

Rain soaked the ground and the crackles of thunder accompanied lightning that briefly illuminated the gorgeous mountainside. Without the storm’s vicious light, it’s beauty was cast in the shadow of night. It mattered not, even in the darkness, the ochre-furred simian knew where to go.

Sun Wukong breathed heavily as he marched up the trail to his home. He pulled at wisteria and moss that had buried itself into his head and stubbornly refused to unroot itself. Some of his own hair came out in the process, but he could care less at the moment. He could only remember one other time he had felt this restless concoction of energy and exhaustion.

He’d nearly given up hope that he would ever get out from under that painful burden. He’d gotten so used to the weight of his own mountain that when it suddenly lifted, he could hardly believe it. He had to destroy part of the mountain to free himself, sure, but the structure of the prison built into his own home didn’t concern him when it came to his freedom. Now, all he cared about was making it past the waterfall, seeing his people again– gods, how he missed the comforts of his home. The warmth of a fire, someplace to stay dry and out of the elements that clung to his hair and dripped to the muddy ground, the softness of a blanket that could comfort much more than the stone that encased his body, he had almost forgotten what they felt like. Once he was back in the security of his home beyond the waterfall, he could regain his strength and take care of the one who locked him away in the first place.

That traitor deserved more than what he did to his eye. The thought that Macaque would put him in the same prison the celestial realm did– he can feel his anger seething under his skin over the notion. It was lucky that his old friend-turned-enemy slipped up, why else would he be free now? Nevertheless, he’d finish what he started.

The world needs to know the Monkey King was back.

Wukong huffs slightly as he hikes up Flower Fruit Mountain, his tunnel vision fading as he noticed a small monkey further up the path. The sight of another made his face light up, how long had it been since he’d seen one of his subjects? Not an unseen bird mocking him with its song, nor a centipede crawling over his face– it was one of his own.

There’s more pep in his stride as he approaches the young monkey. He didn’t recognize her as one of his older monkeys he’d saved from mortality, but perhaps she was a young descendant. “Hey there, bud. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of you…”

The young monkey jumped once she saw him, and before he could get any closer, she was running up the closest tree to hide amongst the leaves. “…guys?” Wukong frowned, put off by her reaction. He wasn’t used to having his people run from him, but then again, he hadn’t recognized her. Maybe she didn’t recognize her king, it has been many years after all.

Unfortunately, the king’s confusion only grew the more of his subjects he came across. The further he pushed up the mountain, the more it happened. He had no clue what was wrong. Sure, he smells right now, he hadn’t had the opportunity to take a proper bath in forever! He can’t stink that bad, right? Actually, it felt better to believe it was his hygiene, why else would they all be avoiding him like this. Unless another demon king had decided to claim his land, or hunters were terrorizing his monkeys again, wouldn’t they all be overjoyed to see their king after so long?

When Wukong finally made it to Water-Curtain Cave, he expected to find it not all that different than when he’d left it, but that would be wishful thinking. Instead, what he found shook the sage to his core. If his immortalities didn’t keep his heart from giving out, it certainly would have as he studied the murals that defaced his home. They show himself and his friends– twisted versions of their adventures and events that hadn’t been there before when he last visited the cave.

His heart sunk as he stumbled further into the cave, leaving behind a trail of the water that had soaked him to the bone. The murals continued on the walls, his friends disappearing one by one until he became all that was left– they never finished the pilgrimage without him, they failed. He failed them.

Hot tears pricked his eyes, grief threatening to swallow Wukong whole. Not one of them made it. His brothers, his master… they were all gone. He couldn’t protect them. All that stood, with their blood on his hands, was a reflection of himself.

It made no sense! How could this have happened?! He’d been sealed away, why would he be in these murals with them? They couldn’t be real, it was all lies! What made them worse was how he was depicted in each one, each interpretation of him more demonic than the last. Some even showed himself in his monstrous three-headed form, destroying settlements and uprooting villages. Several questions drowned one another out in his mind, but one stayed afloat among the raging storm of confusion and heartache. What happened?!

Wukong pushed further into the cave, determined to find a semblance of an answer. Instead, he was only confronted with more questions by the house he finds where his stone palace once resided. The rain from the storm came down through the large opening above and tapped against the roof of the strange home. It looked nothing like the smaller houses of commoners who gathered in those human villages, but it wasn’t as large or elaborate as the palaces and grand estates of the wealthy he’d seen during his journey. Who the hell could have made this? Who could have settled here while he was gone?! The entrance was still protected, allowing only his monkeys and their king passage into his home.

Now with the possibility of another being inside, the sage approached the home with caution. He walked past the large stone that held bittersweet memories of himself and the person he thought he could trust, and entered the house without any trouble.

Inside the home was even more confusing than its exterior. Its decor appeared foreign to Sun Wukong, his years under his rocky home doing no favours in regards of understanding this new era of life. He had no clue what the reflective black screen on the wall to his left was, nor why so many cushioned seats and chairs were turned towards it. The small paintings behind glass that sat on the walls and various furniture in the halls were remarkably detailed, he’d never seen anything like them! It was as though the painter had trapped the very souls of their subjects on paper. The one room that he had any hint of recognition for was what looked to be a possible dojo. A rack of weapons lined one of its walls, strange mats laid on its centre with dummies sitting by another wall.

What took Wukong’s attention the most were the strangers in those paintings. He took note of a young man wearing a bandana, a woman with green in her hair often accompanying him. Some of the paintings portray them in what appears to be a kitchen with a chef that bore a painful resemblance to Zhu Bajie. In one picture, he saw the chef shouting at another that looked strikingly similar to his master. Another painting put these people on the seaside with another familiar face, one that looked too much like Wukong’s youngest brother, Sha Wujing.

The kid in the bandana appeared to be in most of the paintings Wukong saw, some showed him with another young man with white hair and purple eyes in what looked to be a strange indoor market. There were other paintings with a short curly haired woman wearing a brown jacket. With them was a young boy that bears resemblance to her, though he wore a shirt that matched the man with the bandana. They both wear a symbol on their shirt of a monkey with a wide smile, a scar adorning its right eye.

The longer he observed each of the paintings, the more his confusion and anger grew. Of all the people on those walls, only one made it clear who this house belonged to. The white-furred simian that locked him away appeared in a handful of the paintings, smiling and apparently playful with many of the strangers depicted with him. Seeing him laugh with these people made Wukong’s stomach twist painfully. Everything he saw, it all felt wrong, none of this was right!

“Welcome home, Bud.”

Wukong’s head snapped to the voice, down the end of the hallway he stood in. Making his way down the rest of the hallway led him to its owner, his jailor. In the middle of a gathering area, in a cushioned chair he sat on like a throne with his staff leaning against it, Macaque faced him with a lazy smirk. His elbow propped himself up against the chair’s armrest, his head resting in his hand with one leg crossed over the other. He no longer kept his fur dark, but his extra ears remained hidden. Despite that, the warrior didn’t bother hiding what Wukong had done to his eye. “You gave my subjects quite the scare with the mess you made when you broke out.”

“Your subjects?!” The sage hissed, barely able to hold back his anger. The sheer gall, did he have a death wish?! Those were his people!

Macaque didn’t seem all that phased by his hostility, and uncrossed his leg to stand, picking up his staff as he did. “Of course. This is my mountain, after all.”

“Like hell it is!” Wukong growled, his fist clenching as Macaque moved to circle him slowly.

“Look around for yourself.” He hummed, gesturing to the home he built over what once belonged to Wukong. He narrowed his eyes at the sage’s circlet as he spoke, a grin showing his canines. “You may be wearing your… crown… but Flower Fruit Mountain has been doing quite well for itself with its new Monkey King.”

That sent him over the edge. Red clouding over his vision, Wukong lunged at the demon he once shared his home with. Macaque was ready for the attack, blocking the sage’s fist with his staff. “Hohoho! A couple hundred years under another mountain didn’t calm you down at all, did it?” He laughed, pushing his attacker back before charging after him to strike.

The two sent each other flying with every collision, their strikes so swift no human eye would be able to process them. Between transformations of hawks and snakes, claws and jaws, they sent each other flying through walls and grappling on the ground before taking off into the sky through the opening above the cave.

Amidst the rainfall and strikes of lightning, Macaque pinned Sun Wukong against the muddy ground with his staff, the simian hissing a whisper through gritted teeth. “You should have stayed buried under the mountain.”

Wukong glared at the warrior, shouting out in a rage before kicking him off and jumping back to his feet. They continued to clash, their clones colliding with one another and vanishing before Wukong was able to throw Macaque to the ground. The light-furred simian looked up to see his other half hurtling down towards him and tried falling into a shadow-portal, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Sun Wukong grabbed him just before he could get away, lifting him into the air by his throat. His nails dug into his skin, allowing no room for breath. “To think I thought of sparing you then.” He snarled, his teeth fully bared and his glare burning hotter than the sun itself. “I should take your other eye–!”

Macaque’s eyes widened as Wukong raised his fist, but before he could land the hit, something cold and metallic swung into the sage’s side. He dropped the simian in surprise, the blow sending him flying. Wukong hit the ground with a thud, his ribs cried out in pain as he laid there, stunned. He let out a shout in pain once he managed to sit up, and when he managed to see whoever had come to Macaque’s aid, he froze.

“Are you okay, Monkey King?” It was the young man from the paintings, the one with the bandana. Wukong’s eyes went wide as he heard him, the kid reaching down to help the traitor up. A pit opened up in his stomach hearing someone call him that, it wasn’t Macaque's name– it was his!

The pit in his stomach grew wider as he saw that the kid wielded a staff– not just any, but his own. There were spikes encircling the ends now like Macaque’s own staff, but Wukong could recognize his own weapon. He’d wielded it in more battles he could count– it was unmistakably his own! How did this kid have the power to lift it? Who was he?!

Macaque coughed as the boy helped him rise to his feet, and he reached up to massage his throat before giving him a warm smile. “I’m alright, kid.” He reassured him before looking back to Wukong, the warmth his eyes held for the young man vanishing the second Wukong fell under his gaze.

The kid followed his line of sight before stepping forward. He shot Wukong an angered glare before readying his own staff against him. “Stay back!”

Wukong could hardly believe the sight before him. “What? No, no– this isn’t what it looks like, I’m not the bad guy here!”

“I know exactly who you are, Corrupt Sage.” He hissed, the name sending a pang through Wukong’s chest, his heart shattering. Gods, this was all wrong!

From behind the kid, he could see Macaque watching, the smug bastard stared him down with a grin. Thunder crackled through the sky as Wukong glared at his once sworn brother, his fist clenched so hard, his nails threatened to break skin. Outrage boiled in his veins, but there was nothing he could do with it. Even with his adrenaline racing, he felt beyond tired. Even if he could finish Macaque off in his current state, his little friend would get in the way and Wukong had no clue how powerful the kid really was. If he could lift his staff, he must be strong enough to pose a challenge.

Taking on the both of them could result in Wukong getting sealed away again, and he couldn’t depend on whatever dumb luck he had to free him from his rocky prison a second time. With a frustrated shout, the sage turned on his heel and leapt into the sky.

Everything had all become so wrong. Macaque had his story so twisted and mangled– is this how the world saw him? Those murals, the hate in that man’s eyes, even the fear on the faces of his monkey subjects! It made his skin crawl. How could the world forget who he really was? He had to fix this. Wukong refused to live in a world where nobody knew who Macaque really was, who he really was!

That monster took everything. His home, his people, his legacy– but Wukong was going to get it back.

#i'll post later to describe the au some more #i've been having so much fun with this #false hero au #lego monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk mk #lmk au

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years ago

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Just a little thought for your sweet Sunday prompt, don’t worry if it’s not the sort of thing you want. Kind, soft old fashioned gentleman Steve looking after the reader when she’s having a particularly bad time of the month. I love that man so much and I adore how you write him.😍

Fair warning: this gets sweet but sooooooooo deep after the feels. I went overboard on the semi-angst because periods and (my) life sucks. Steve's just so magical, that bastard....

Hour seven of cramping and you contemplate just giving up and heading to bed. You look over to the clock.

20:23

No way. Too early. You can wait one hour more until another dose of painkiller.

Except now you're out of snacks and either have to watch only half a movie or search for a TV show.

There's a knock at the door, and why someone checking on you makes you want to cry is beyond you. You just do want to cry. You don't want to explain WWIII in your uterus; you want ice cream, dammit.

"I bought three kinds," Steve announces, using his foot to close up behind him, arms covered in grocery bags like a pack mule. "Four if you count the sandwiches."

When he finally looks up, he stalls seeing you curled into the couch, covered in thick blankets, a pillow squished harshly to your chest, and tears brimming in your eyes.

His eyes soften. "Hun," he whines, dropping his arms, "you could have texted me."

You shake your head before tucking it into the pillow. "Not gonna bother you," you mumble through fabric.

"That bad, huh?"

Steve doesn't need an answer though. He's speedy in the kitchen while you scroll absently through Netflix. You still have no clue what to watch.

He returns to your side with a bowl: one scoop of every flavor capped with an entire ice cream sandwich...minus one bite.

"Sorry," he winks, "boyfriend tax."

Steve's cute when he's cheeky, and he knows it.

"That's a big bite, mister."

He shrugs, simply adding, "inflation."

Another sharp pang hits you above the hip, one so brutal and deep you hiss. He asks about medicine, if you'd like hot tea or chocolate, and what else he can do. There's nothing. Just another pang before the other even recedes.

Concern falls off his face suddenly, and Steve holds up a finger before hurtling over the back of the couch.

He comes back but sits on the floor with his hand out. "Foot, please," he adds, brandishing a pair of your fuzziest socks.

"One sec," you groan and clutch the bowl tighter. You can't lift your leg until the cramp stops. You watch Steve school his face with patience instead of sadness.

Some months are worse than others, and Steve doesn't like unpredictable things. Even though he's patient. Even though he rolls with the punches. He will never get used to seeing his best girl in pain, and so most of the time, you hide it from him. You've trained yourself to play it off like it's nothing more than a temporary stomach ache, but this one is bad. You cannot play off this month.

You drank as much water as you could handle. You peed every twenty minutes and cleaned up every time as if it would matter. You want to shower every hour, but that would be just as useless. You'll feel gross and bloated no matter what.

You should feel so pampered and loved when Steve gently slips the soft sock over your heel. You should be happy beneath his gorgeous, blue, adoring gaze. You should not start crying into your confection. It's not salted caramel, for christ's sake. Get it together.

Which, of course, you can't do.

You can't stop any of it, and then you're happy you can't stop it because then he might stop. Somehow Steve only becomes more doting as you shovel ice cream in like air. He sneaks another bite of sandwich to make you smile. Somehow smiling makes the tears come faster. He peels away some blankets and the pillow, politely waiting until the spoon clinks against empty china. Somehow he wrestles you into his lap and hugs.

The firm grip he puts you in is soothing like a weighted blanket, tighter than you can wrap against your own gut, and it feels so good. He curls around you as you were curled in the cushions, a universal pressure, a universal peace.

"You want to watch a comedy or a nature documentary?" His voice rumbles against your back.

"Neither."

His chin pokes your cheek with a questioning hum.

"Tell me about your day," you reply, sighing, letting your whole self lean into Steve even though you feel swollen and grumpy.

He squeezes a little firmer around you, waiting to feel more tension drain from you. "Well, Sam complained that I was heavy again."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he had to lift me ten stories higher between buildings."

You scoff. "My god, how hard can it be?"

"I know, I know," he mutters, "I'm light as a feather. Practically lean."

"Yeah," you finally smile. "Go on. Have another ice cream sandwich, you skinny boy."

His chuckle rattles behind you. "Only if we can share...then I'm thinking a hot bath and more of this--" he cuddles up closer "--if you're game."

"Just a minute longer," you beg in a whisper before adding with more strength, "you still haven't told me about Sam and Bucky's latest tiff."

#ro answers #sweet sunday asks #steve rogers fic #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #fluff #hurt/comfort #steve rogers hurt/comfort #fluff and romance #fluff and feels #angst with a happy ending #light angst

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writing--whore · 2 years ago

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Opportunity of a Lifetime - Final Chapter

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo sugar daddy wish fulfilment smut ✨ (this is set one year after the rest of the series and so it can be read as a standalone smut fic if you don't wanna read the series)

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: smut, d/s dynamics, collar play?, choking, biting, fingering, PIV, praise kink

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

A/N: I am sooooooooo sorry it took me so long to finish this fic. 😅 TMI warning, please feel free to skip this. My mental health has plummeted. I managed to graduate from my postgraduate degree. I'm currently living with my abusive family, trying to save up enough money to move out of here. Things have been p difficult but I'm so happy I finally finished this fic adfdfdfd.

One year later

Bright sunlight poured through your large penthouse windows, perfectly illuminating your easel. As your paint brush danced across the canvas, you thought about how much Billy had done for you and a warm smile graced your lips. Your life had become a fantasy.

It had taken you a while to grow comfortable with all this luxury at first. When Billy had first helped you buy this place, you found yourself wandering around the rooms, not sure what to do with all this space, and not quite believing that it was all yours.

Day by day, the place felt more like home and ideas on how to decorate entered your mind. You bought a grand piano, something you were getting quite good at playing. You had a walk-in wardrobe fitted into your bedroom and filled it with the most amazing clothes. And, of course, you bought an easel.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had both the free time and the energy to indulge in your passions. Not to mention the doubt that would hold you back. But now you had plenty of everything you needed and it freed up space in your brain for more positivity.

You found yourself feeling lighter. Not only was your life a dream but you were also becoming much more like the person you had always wanted to be.

You were too lost in your thoughts to hear Billy come into the apartment using the spare key you’d given him. He was about to say ‘hello’ and make his presence known but he saw how deep in concentration you were and decided to sneak up behind you. His arms quickly curled around your waist as he pulled your back tight against his chest.

You yelped in surprise but started giggling when you realised who it was.

“Hello, my love.” He said, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

His eyes landed on the art piece beyond your shoulder. “You’re really getting the hang of this. You’re a natural artist.”

“Thank you.” You replied - still beaming - as you put down your brush and art palette.

You swivelled to face Billy and he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. You closed your eyes and sighed contentedly as his familiar musky scent filled your nose, making you feel all fuzzy.

“How was your day?” He asked, chest vibrating against you.

“Wonderful. Relaxing. Everything I could ever hope for.” It must have sounded like hyperbole, but not a single word was a lie.

He let out a small laugh of joy. “As it should be. My girl deserves only the best of days.”

If he hadn’t been holding you, you might have swooned.

You had to regain your composure when he finally pulled away from you.

“I got something for you today.” He said as he rifled in a bag by his feet.

He got you something almost every day. He showed no sign of stopping and you hoped he never would.

He handed you a large box and you opened it to find a beautiful diamond necklace, with additional diamonds trailing down your neck.

“Billy, it’s gorgeous. Can you put it on for me?”

"Of course."

With gentle care, he brought the necklace around the front of your neck. The metal was chilling, which made the warmth of his fingers even more alluring. He clasped it tightly, restricting your breathing ever so slightly. You couldn’t help from drawing a comparison between this necklace and a collar.

"Go take a look in the mirror." He spoke, snapping you from a world that had been just his fingers and your neck.

You nodded and bounded to the full-length mirror in your bedroom that had the best lighting. You came to a dull stop.

"Hmmm it's beautiful." You said to Billy, who was reflected a few paces behind you. "But I don't really think it goes with what I'm wearing. Just a sec."

You unzipped your clothes and the material fell to a pool at your feet.

“Much better.” You mused with a coy smile.

Billy’s eyes widened like a man seeing a God in the flesh.

He staggered towards you; hands hesitant to mar such a beautiful body. Desire was quick to overcome piety and his wide palms traced the contours of your hips and waist, sneaking around to gently cup your breasts.

He came to stand flush against your back, his arms encircling your body as his fingers continued to worship your skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said with a conviction strong enough to banish your negative self-talk.

You saw yourself through his eyes and you saw art.

Art that was about to be defiled.

He pressed a warm kiss to your shoulder blade, to the nape of your neck, and then he pushed your necklace up slightly so he could reach that sweet spot he’d found a few months ago that had you absolutely melting.

You let out a shaky moan as he sucked on that murderous spot. He held tightly onto your waist, and you tilted your neck to allow him easier access.

You don’t know how it happened, but you ended up with your back against the plush mattress. His lips never left your neck for a second, licking and biting your skin until he was certain bright bruises would bloom in his wake. He was obsessed with how you looked wearing his marks.

“I love you.” He breathed out against your neck, causing you to shiver.

You groaned before returning, “I love you too.”

His assault on your neck continued, trailing lower to your collarbone. His hands were back palming your breasts, unable to get enough of you.

“Billy, please.” You whimpered.

“You want more, baby?”

You nodded with a slight pout.

One of his hands roamed greedily up your leg, taking his sweet time until his hand reached your crotch. He applied the tiniest amount of pressure against you with the palm of his hand. Moaning, you writhed beneath him, grinding yourself against his hand.

“That’s my good girl.” He praised.

He knew exactly how to get you riled, how to get every inch of you absolutely burning for him.

His mouth reclaimed yours, lips so perfectly plush, tongue devilishly expert. At the same time, he slipped a finger into you, making you moan into the kiss. You felt like you were levitating as you strained yourself to press harder against him, as if he would disappear if you were not kissing him as searingly as possible.

The one finger was not enough. It was slowly driving you insane with how sensitive you felt and yet so entirely un-full. You pressed your legs together tightly, hoping to feel more friction but it did little to bring you the pleasure you were looking for.

“Please, it's not enough.” You whined, fisting your hand in Billy’s shirt.

“So inpatient.” He replied.

Effortlessly, he gathered your wrists in one hand and pinned them against the space above your head.

His finger continued its slow assault as he delved down to carry on kissing you.

You whined in protest, wriggling beneath him to try and free yourself. But you didn’t really want him to stop. You loved how he managed to drive you to the point of insanity with how needy he made you.

He pulled away slightly to take in your flushed face. “Oh, my poor baby can hardly handle not getting what she wants, can she?”

You could feel yourself get noticeably wetter at that remark. From the smirk on his face, he clearly noticed also.

“Fuck you, Russo.” You replied.

“You’re going to regret saying that.”

The smirk faded and a darkness appeared in his eyes as his finger slowed down to almost a standstill, driving all the way into you at an excruciating pace and then pulling all the way back out again just to repeat the process.

Your eyes clenched shut as your whole body thrummed and twitched with burning need.

“Billy please, pleaseeee.” You begged.

His finger delved all the way inside of you and curled upwards, pressing hard against your spongy core.

“Please!” You shouted a lot louder than you’d been expecting to. “Please, I’ll be a good girl.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded enthusiastically.

“Well in that case…” He finished his sentence by slipping a second finger into you.

With each thrust, he sped up the pace until he was pounding his fingers into you, curling them up to find your sweet spot each time.

The intense pleasure you’d been feeling suddenly dialled up to an extent that managed to surprise you every single time you lay down with Billy Russo.

Your hands struggled in his grasp, unconsciously needing to touch every inch of his body. Your hips also struggled, convulsing and jittering into the air, meeting his fingers.

“Billy, I’m close.” You moaned.

A few more careful thrusts of his fingers and… He pulled them out.

“No, please.” You whined as you plummeted down from your pleasure, head spinning with the intensity of it all.

His heart melted at the look on your face. He released your wrists and kissed you on the forehead.

“This is a lesson in patience, my love.”

You whined as he drew away although the noise died in your throat as he started to undress himself, starting with his shirt and moving on to his trousers and underwear until he was naked and standing to attention before you.

You were quick to crawl over to him and roam your hands across his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin as if for the very first time. Your hands trailed downwards, and you made eye contact with him as you gave his dick a few tortuous strokes, giving him a small taste of his own medicine.

His gaze was so steady and confident, knowing he could easily take control of the situation if he desired to. You could never have guessed Billy would be like this. He was the sweetest man you’d ever met who’d shown you nothing but undying kindness. It was shocking to discover that in intimate settings he could be so cruel. How easily he switched his demeanour chilled you to the bone. But you were never scared. Not with Billy, this man who would do absolutely anything for you. He was a dream. A dark but beautiful dream.

His hand rose to possessively cup the side of your face, holding you in place as he continued to hold your gaze. Slowly, his hand snaked down your neck and then to your shoulder, which is where he shoved you down onto the bed. You yelped and then yelped again when he grabbed your ankles and yanked you down until you were perfectly positioned on the pillows.

He shoved your legs apart and prowled between them. Your body tensed in anticipation, hands pre-emptively finding purchase in the pillow either side of your head. He grabbed your hips, and you bit your lip as he slowly lined himself up with your entrance and slid in even slower. You let out a strained moan as he bottomed out.

His fingers curled around your thighs and held your legs open as far as your hips would allow. A devilish smirk sparked on his lips at the sight of you spread so vulnerable for him. The smirk remained as he began to hammer into you.

You let out a moan of surprise, hands returning to fists in the pillows. You hadn’t expected him to go straight from 0 to 100 and you had no idea what to do with yourself as waves of pleasure convulsed through you like a demon was trying to possess you.

He showed absolutely no sign of letting up as his powerful hips continued to thrust into you fast and hard, again and again. Electric sparks filled your groin. You felt like a ball of light, too hot. This was too much pleasure to contain in a human body such as your own.

“You’re doing so good, baby. You’re taking me so well.” He praised.

His words relaxed you and a long moan left your throat that you hadn’t realised you’d been keeping in.

For him, you would find a way to handle all the light bursting inside of you.

Your fingers curled so tight you wondered if your nails had pierced the pillows.

“That’s my good girl.” He spoke as his broad hands snaked up your body, fondling your waist and then your breasts.

Your back arched up into his touch. Your body felt completely haywire with the overstimulation but still you craved it.

His hands roamed higher, and you knew exactly where they were going. They reached around you to unclasp the beautiful diamond necklace from you. And then his hands cruelly curled around your neck. You bit your lip as a pang of fear bolted through you. The pleasure from choking made you absolutely insane and you legitimately didn’t know if you could handle that. But at the same time, the fear of being pushed to your absolute breaking point also turned you on. You have never trusted anyone before like you’ve come to trust Billy. If anyone knew how to push you to an extent you never thought you would be able to go without getting you hurt, it was him.

His fingers tightened, cutting off your oxygen supply. It was ecstasy. Your eyes rolled up into the back of your head.

He continued pummelling into you, managing to reach even deeper at this angle, perfectly bashing your g-spot with each thrust.

Your eyes widened and a very strained moan was involuntarily forced up your throat with every savage thrust.

His face was close to yours, his eyes boring into your own. You could feel his warmth radiating onto your skin. The moment felt so intimate. His eyes were filled with such an overbrimming mixture of love and lust. You were sure yours reflected the same. You’d never experienced anything as intense as this before.

His gaze made you let go, it made you melt and mould to fit all the pleasure, to allow it to pulse through your veins.

That was when you realised you were going to cum. You trusted him implicitly that he would be able to look after you throughout your high. And so you rode it. You let your eyes shutter closed as his hips rolled into you unrelentingly, pounding into you again and again at a mind-blowing pace.

Somehow, the pleasure wound deep within you to an impossible extent at the same time as your vision started to blur. That man knew exactly what he was doing. A few more perfect thrusts and an explosion went off within you. You practically screamed, muscles clenching as your vision was filled with pure white.

You felt like you were floating. You were only acutely aware of the fact that Billy was still thrusting, chasing his own high.

You only came back to yourself again when Billy’s arms were wrapped tightly around you and he was blanketing the top of your head with kisses.

He crooned. “You did so well for me, my beautiful love.”

You replied with a happy sigh as you wrapped your own arms around him and buried your face as deep into his chest as humanly possible. You sighed harder, flooded with absolute bliss, as you breathed in his musky scent.

Life with Billy was better than you imagined Heaven to be. A small tear of joy slipped from your eye at how true that sentence was. Never could you have imagined you would be with a man as perfect as Billy. He knew exactly how to treat you like a princess and when to not.

You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life making your fantasies come true.

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